My Own True Calling 8 - I Can't Choose For You (Patreon)

Life in the Degala tribe is pretty peaceful. Not easy, by any means—their lack of significant food stockpiles and hunter-gatherer lifestyle means that they’re in a constant struggle to keep their heads above water, so to speak. But it’s peaceful. Everybody in the tribe knows their role and has their own routine to follow. The separation between men and women isn’t as stark, though it’s still present. Men tend to be the ones building, maintaining, and crewing ships and boats, while the women stay closer to home to focus on local forage, maintaining homes, and taking care of the youngest children.

And I do mean just the youngest. Anyone older than a toddler is at least apprenticed to someone with a job, and most fishing trips or hunting expeditions have at least a few young trainees tagging along. The shipyard, I’m told, is usually one of the most prestigious places for anybody of either gender to work, but is currently at minimum staff while trade with the mainland is tied up.

I still feel responsible for that. Jira’s decision was her own, and I’d honestly probably be dead without her, but the Degala tribe’s livelihood is mainly dependent on two things—income from selling their ships, and their own fleet of trading vessels like Jira’s. I’ve already talked to Remi about how the latter is pretty much shut down without safe passage through the Sagaa river, but the former is a bit more complicated.

“It’s my mother’s fault,” Talla explains while we enjoy a dinner of chilled fish stew.

Though chilled is a bit of an overstatement. Really, it was just left to cool for a while. Fish that’s been left out for a bit is about as appetizing as it sounds, but the lakewater is salty enough to almost make up for it. It’s definitely an acquired taste, but even with summer slowly fading, I’ll take it over piping hot stingroot soup.

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to avoid smelling the food. Come on, Allie, at least it’s not pocket-snail. “I thought she was one of the ones making offers on the new commission.”

Talla sighs. “She is, but my family’s holdings are mostly land-based. We specialize in industry, farms, and livestock. Normally it would be Shaa taking our goods up the river, and Gaa to other provinces along the coasts.”

“Okay?” I drawl, still not quite sure what she’s getting at.

“That inflection thing you do doesn’t translate very well,” she reminds me. “The point is that my family doesn’t really do ships. Mother’s not making bids because she actually intends to purchase.”

I frown. Tamara wouldn’t be doing it for no reason, and something as petty as just trying to jack up the price for her rivals doesn’t sound like her—especially considering how badly that could backfire on her. I also doubt she’s doing it out of some kind of charity for the Degala tribe, even if she does know that her heiress is currently living here.

“Sending a message?” I muse. “If Goa normally relies on the other families for trade, buying your own ships signals distrust in that system. Seems a little indirect considering that they were outright shooting at each other when we left the city.”

“The open conflict has already been shut down,” Talla informs me. “The Empress sent the army to keep the peace, and made it abundantly clear that any further infighting among the Baanu would be treated as rebellion.”

“So now they’re sniping at each other economically instead,” I conclude.

“Politically as well,” she agrees. “Lady Shaa has already taken a petition to court insisting that the Order of Rangers should be officially folded into the inquisition and that the Gaa and Goa families should be held accountable for enabling and inciting rebellion.”

I grimace, and the bitter taste in my mouth has nothing to do with the stew. Lady Mira Shaa Baanu, Talla’s former teammate-turned-nemesis, daughter of the woman who murdered Draga and Lady Faarah, and all-around wretched fricking b-word, is now the matriarch of the Shaa family.

Apparently, despite being a violent jerk and—to hear Talla tell it—a completely incompetent ranger, she surprised everybody by taking to her new role with ruthless aplomb. By the time we got anything resembling real news from the mainland, Mira had already entrenched herself not only as the Matriarch of her family, but also replaced her mother as the new Grand Inquisitor, and wormed her way into becoming the de facto leader of the rangers in Stebaari.

That last position is a bit more limited, with the chapters outside the city under no obligation to follow her lead until she is officially confirmed as grandmistress by the Empress. It’s not quite the coup Sabaah was going for—on account of Evie turning her to dust—but under Mira’s leadership, the Shaa family still managed to skyrocket itself into the most powerful family in the city overnight, held in check only by a coalition between Gaa, Goa, and their allies, as well as the somewhat shaky foundations of their power base.

If Mira manages to convince the empress to let her not only become the official head of the rangers, but also merge the organization with the inquisitors, then there will be absolutely no contest, coalition or no.

“That will be the last thing the Empress wants,” Talla assures me. “Too much power in a single family’s hands would put her own position at risk, especially right on the doorstep of her seat of power. Still, unless the other families can bleed Mira a bit, she might just have enough power already to force a few concessions.”

“Which brings us back to the ships,” I muse.

“Shaa is traditionally one of Degala’s main clients,” Talla says. “Mom is trying to disrupt that by forcing Mira to overcommit resources if she wants to keep expanding her fleet. The bidding war is as much to prevent or delay a deal from actually happening as anything else.”

“I assume that’s not all,” I reply.

Goddess forbid Tamara Goa Baanu ever have a mere two reasons for doing something.

“Well,” she hedges, “This is only speculation, but with Mom and Aunt Arelii colluding to raise the price of Degala ships, Shaa’s only recourse is to put external pressure on the tribe to force them to capitulate. I’ve seen what Mira’s demanding, and the tribe can’t afford to accept those terms.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with your Mother’s plans.”

Talla grimaces. “She has to know that Mira won’t back down and that Degala can’t. The only way this stalemate ends is if the tribe can come to terms with the Gaa family, and that can’t happen as long as my mother keeps obstructing.”

“But why would she want to do that?”

“Because her first daughter is here, and I can’t very well stay as a guest of the tribe if they’re starving, can I?”

I freeze, staring at Talla in disbelief. “You’re joking. Please tell me Tamara wouldn’t push an entire tribe to starvation because she’s mad at you for running away.”

“Not just for that,” she concedes, “but in concert with her other plans to counter Shaa’s power play? I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Well, I’ve thoroughly lost my appetite. Pushing away the rest of my stew in disgust I draw my knees up to my chest so that I can bury my face in them.

“Uuugh, [this sucks],” I groan in my own language before switching back to Fa’aun. “How is it that every fricking problem in the world is our fault, and there’s nothing I can do about any of it?!”

Talla smiles sympathetically. “None of this is your fault, Allie. You are, at most, a catalyst for plots nearly a century in the making. You haven’t even been here for a full season, and have been as much a victim of all this as anybody.”

“I just don’t know what to do,” I sigh in frustration. “Ever since we showed up in this world, we’ve been completely lost and helpless, just drifting from place to place without any real goal in mind other than surviving. I thought that was fine, that we’d be able to just keep our head down and carve out a life here. But where has that fricking gotten us?!”

“There’s nothing wrong with following the path laid out before you,” Talla assures me. “Especially when you have so few options to begin with. And I’ve seen what you’re capable of—helpless is the last word I’d use to describe any of you.”

“Yeah, great,” I mutter venomously. “We’ve got a real talent for killing everything in our way. Last time we did that it got—”

Talla’s eyes widen, and I cut myself off. She’s mourning Draga’s death too, I remind myself. And she was his friend long before we were. Some of the heat drains out of my voice as I change what I was going to say.

“It didn’t turn out well,” I sigh. “I know it’s not really my fault, Talla, but I still want to help. It’s not about blame, I just need to take responsibility.”

Her face twists into an odd frown as she tries to parse my words. “I’m not sure the concepts are translating well because those are essentially the same thing, aren’t they?”

“No, it’s not,” I try to explain. “I don’t want to help just because I feel like I owe it to anybody—though I do—it’s just the right thing to do. Draga said he wanted to do something with his life, so that he could go to your goddess with pride. I do too! I want to do something! Something worthy of Draga’s pride.”

So that he didn’t die for nothing. I don’t say that—not to Talla—but I feel it. If we owe anybody, it’s him.

“I just don’t know what to actually do,” I finish lamely.

Talla fixes me with a discerning gaze for a long moment before propping her chin on her hand.

“I’m planning a trip up the mountain soon,” she says. “The equinox is coming, and my skills predict that there should be a good chance to see the stars. Not as good as the winter solstice, and the window is much smaller, but it’s been almost six months since I had the opportunity.”

“Uh...” I reply eloquently, a bit off-kilter from the sudden change of subject. “Alright.”

“Would you join me?” she asks.

“Holy fucking—red alert!” Maggie shouts suddenly. “All hands on deck! She’s asking us out on a date! This is not a drill! Allie don’t fumble this!”

“You do realize there’s every chance Talla can hear you, right?” Violet points out.

“Shit!”

If Talla is listening, she doesn’t react to the interruption, but I don’t feel the tingle of magic that would imply she’s casting a spell and she’s promised not to do that without permission.

“Of course, I’d be happy too,” I accept. “Only, um, why?”

“What the fuck, Allie?!” Maggie jeers. “Even I know you don’t ask why someone is asking you out!”

She’d be right, if I thought that’s what Talla was actually doing.

“What you’re going through is something most Fa’aun face at a young age,” Talla answers. “Usually in a pretty structured way—do you follow the path your mother set out for you, or do you choose something else for yourself? It’s not so simple, in your case, but the essence of it is the same.”

The Fa’aun consider a person to have reached adulthood when they complete their “core class.” As part of the process, they go through two rounds of apprenticeships, where one is picked by their parents—usually the mother—and the other is chosen by themselves. Ultimately, all of it goes into the final class, but it’s up to them to choose which parts of that class they want to pursue most.

In Talla’s case, her mother chose school and medicine, while Talla chose magic and astronomy. She combined them all to become the versatile magical scholar she is today, but as much of a polymath as she is I’d almost forgotten that Talla is still an astronomer first.

“I can’t choose for you,” she continues, “but at least I can show you what I chose, and what it means to me. Maybe that will help you come to your own conclusions.”